


The Perfect Fit

by fionasank



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Romance, Supernatural AU: Not Hunters, destiel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fionasank/pseuds/fionasank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Approximately twenty minutes earlier, a man had entered the clothes store in a plaid shirt and boots, and Cas hasn't taken his eyes off him since. (Destiel clothesstore!au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel Novak is many things: a perfectionist, punctual, pop culture ignorant. But one thing he's not is lazy. That's why Gabriel knows something's up when it's peak business time and Cas is just sitting behind the cash register, staring into space, drumming his fingers slowly on the desk.

"Hey, Cas." Gabriel snaps his fingers in front of his friend's face. "Earth to Cas. What are you doing?"

Cas blinks a few times, sitting back in his chair and meeting Gabriel's eye. "Oh. Nothing. I was just... nothing."

"Yeah, exactly. C'mon, get back to work. Go... talk to someone, or something." He swaggers off, calling over his shoulder, "At least keep an eye on Balthazar!"

Tuning back into reality, Cas notices that the store is, indeed, packed. Although he's only really noticed one person.

Approximately twenty minutes earlier, a man had entered the clothes store in a plaid shirt and boots, and Cas hasn't taken his eyes off him since. He busies himself quickly with papers and accounts by the cash register, serving a few customers as they breeze through, eyes frequently flashing up to keep track of the handsome stranger.

He looks a bit lost, Cas thinks. He considers going over and helping him, but nerves clench his stomach. Yeah. He'll go over. In a minute.

Gabriel wanders back over a few minutes later, leaning over the counter to check that Cas is working again. "Gabe, I thought this promotion would make you work harder," Cas mutters without looking up.

"What are you talking about? I'm your supervisor." He spreads his arms out a little. "I'm supervising you." He leans back against the counter, turned towards the shop floor. "And them. And _him."_

"What are you –" Cas follows Gabriel's eyeline to see him gawking at handsome-plaid-man.

"Dibs," Gabriel mutters, standing up straight and checking his teeth in the mirror behind the counter.

"No," Cas says suddenly. Gabriel smirks, and Cas blushes. "I – he's – oh, come on."

"Oh, I see. Staring into _space,_ were we? Doing _nothing_?" He jabs a finger into Cas's shoulder playfully. "You _want_ him."

"Be quiet," Cas hisses as handsome-plaid-man wanders past. His brow is furrowed and he's holding some pants out in front of him like they're a bomb.

"Take over the cash register, will you?" Cas slaps Gabriel on the shoulder before dashing out to follow the man, leaving Gabriel effectively stranded. _Good_ , Cas thinks. _If he steals from the register I might get his job._

He doesn't stop walking as he approaches the man, keeping his eyes firmly front. The man's now wandered into the swimming section and is looking around himself, muttering "what the hell" under his breath.

"Excuse me, sir?" The man whips round at his voice and for the first time Cas notices his eyes. _Whoa,_ he thinks, _talk about beautiful._ "You look a bit lost. I was wondering if you needed some help."

The man's face breaks out into a sheepish grin that looks so adorable on him that Cas sighs heavily. "Really? What was your first clue?" He laughs at his own joke before peering at Cas's name tag. "Castiel, huh? Is that, like, British or something?"

"It's one of the angels from Christian lore," Cas tells him, hands fidgeting in front of him, feeling like a teenager with a crush. _Pull it together, you're working._

"Oh, nice. Exotic. Well, I'm Dean," he says, holding out his hand, "and shopping is not really my thing at all."

Cas takes the hand, feeling the warmth and the pressure and the skin. Then they let go.

"It just so happens I can help with that. What are you looking for?"

"Well, it's my brother's birthday in a couple days, and I thought I'd just get him a shirt or something." Dean shrugs, and gestures towards the pants he's still holding. "Got anything longer than this? He's kinda ginormous."

"Uh, sorry to rain on your parade, but those are women's pants." Cas takes them carefully from him and points to the crotch. "See how tight?"

"Oh." Dean runs a hand through his hair, and Cas can't decide whether it's dark blonde or light brown. "Right."

"There's also this." Cas opens the pants to show the flower print on the inside.

"Hey, he's an open minded guy," Dean says, then sighs. "Okay. I need help."

Cas puts the pants on the side and turns his full attention to Dean. He loves his job sometimes, he really does. He can spend hours with this man and not break a single rule. _Well,_ he thinks mischievously, _not yet._

"What kind of stuff does your brother like?"

"He wears a lot of plaid. And jeans." Dean looks down at his own outfit. "Basically the same as me, really."

Cas thinks for a few moments. "I suppose you could get him a shirt or something, but it's his birthday. Isn't there something more personal you could think of?"

"Uh..." Dean scratches his chin, and Cas notices the slight stubble peppering his jaw. "I don't know. We were never the Christmas List kind of family. I got no idea if he's wanted a My Little Pony playset since 1989."

"What's his job?" Cas starts walking back to the men's clothing section and Dean falls into step beside him.

"Tax lawyer. Boring stuff. Although..." Dean brings his hands up and begins gesturing with them, an idea forming in his mind, his mouth curling up at the side. Cas's heart stutters. "He has this really long hair, down to like his shoulders. It's ridiculous, I keep telling him to get it cut, that I'd do it for him if he gave me some friggin' clippers, but he loves the stuff." Dean raises his eyebrows in question. "Maybe I could get him a hairdryer?"

Cas grins, cocking an eyebrow. "Maybe not."

"No?"

"No. I've got a better idea."

He starts walking again, and Dean follows curiously. They make their way through the small crowd, throwing _excuse me_ s and _sorry_ s this way and that. Cas can feel Dean's presence behind him. He glances into a mirror as they pass the small cosmetics section, trying to flatten down his hair. It doesn't work. It hasn't worked for his whole twenty five years.

After a minute or so they reach their destination. Cas opens his arms out wide and whispers, "Tadah."

He glances at Dean's face to gauge his reaction. This was a risky move. He could have offended the guy. He starts to worry as Dean stares blankly at the racks before him, eyes wide. _Oh God, he hates it. It was too far. Shit. How do I backtrack?_

He builds an apology in his throat and is all ready to set it loose when Dean starts laughing.

Cas smiles as he watches. It really is a beautiful sight: Dean, doubled over in laughter, hands on his thighs, eyes screwed shut. The sound of his laugh echoes lightly, causing a few other customers to turn and smile.

"A hat?" Dean wheezes, standing up straighter. "A _hat?_ Dude, you are a genius." He puts a hand on Cas's shoulder and turns to look at the selection in front of him. Picking up a pink cowboy hat, he says, "What about this? Too 'bachelor party'?"

"I'd say," replies Cas, replacing the cowboy hat on the shelf and picking up a longish beanie hat. "I was thinking more something like this."

"Ah, that's perfect. Grey and boring, just like Sammy." He smiles again, flipping it over to check the price tag. He nods a little. "Hey. Reasonable."

Cas just stands by him, watching as he turns the hat inside-out and stretches it a little. He tries it on, turning towards Cas with his hands on his hips. "What do you think. Sexy?" He pouts ridiculously. "Little _blue steel_ for ya."

"I don't, uh – yeah, it looks good," Cas laughs, shoving his hands into his back pockets in an attempt to look nonchalant.

Dean waggles his eyebrows in response, snatching the hat off his head. "Alright. You, sir, have made a sale. Where do I pay for this thing?"

"There's a cash register by the back of the store. Follow me."

The way back is a lot less crowded than the way there, so they're able to walk side by side.

"I heard of this place from one of the guys at the auto shop," Dean says casually as they make their way towards the cash register. "I mean, these are guys that never talk about shopping, but he said he got some boots here that changed his life or something dumb like that."

"Really?" says Cas, amused.

"Swear to God. I've never heard of this place before, though. _The Garrison_. Is it new?"

They turn a corner. "Yeah, it's only been here for a few weeks. Business is great, though. Which is strange, because of the ten other clothes stores in the area."

"Maybe it's the great customer service," Dean jibes. Cas scoffs, but turns away to hide his blush.

They reach the counter where, surprise surprise, Gabriel has abandoned his post. Cas sighs dejectedly, but he knows he's secretly pleased. This way he gets to spend more time with Dean before the man leaves and may never come back.

He slides behind the counter and takes the hat from Dean's outstretched hand. He scans the tag and hits a few buttons. "That's seven dollars," he tells Dean, looking up from the counter. He doesn't expect Dean to be looking at him, though.

For a few moments the eye contact is unbreakable. There's something in this stranger, this confused, plaid wearing man, that makes Cas... happy. Nothing else. Just happy, like he could look at him for years and not label it as time wasted.

Then Dean pulls his wallet from his back pocket and looks down to pull out a note. He hands it to Cas, who focuses on getting the change. He pulls out three dollars from the cash register and hands it to the man. "Thank you," Cas says instinctively, "have a nice day."

"You too, Cas." Dean smiles happily, shoving the three dollars into the tip jar. "See you around."

Cas gapes as Dean walks away. He watches him until he leaves the store, turning right on the way out. Dean doesn't look back.

It's a few moments before he can move again, tearing his eyes from the window. He sits heavily on the stool behind the counter, glancing up to check the time. 12:13pm. He's run thirteen minutes into his lunch break.

He slides both hands into his hair, groaning loudly and leaning his head forwards onto the counter. He knows he'll be a mess until Dean visits again. Now he just has to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a few days later when a ridiculous pop song comes on the store radio and Cas rolls his eyes. They only play music when the place is pretty much deserted, and 7pm on a Tuesday provides just that.

Cas wanders aimlessly through the aisles, folding this and straightening that. Lucifer smacks him on the back of the head as he passes, calling "later" over his shoulder as he heads for the exit.

The song continues. Making an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, Cas forces his foot to stop tapping. It's only him and Gabe left in the place now, and Heaven knows that guy has a penchant for pop music. If he listens carefully, which he's trying not to, Cas can hear Gabriel's warped singing voice coming from the back. He rolls his eyes once more, heading back to the register to start closing up for the night.

But before he can move, the song changes to one that Cas has actually heard of, and doesn't mind. It's not one of his favourites, not a classic per se, but it's tolerable. Enough so that suddenly he finds himself dancing.

He awkwardly sings along with the words as he struts up and down the aisles, shaking his hips and punching weirdly with his arms. _I should dance more often,_ he thinks, _I'm bad at it._ But who cares, it's fun, and he's alone, right?

Wrong.

"Hey, Cas."

Cas spins around and knocks into something solid. He steps back quickly. "Oh. God. Hi."

Dean chuckles, putting his hands on his hips. "Hey there. Havin' fun?"

"Sorry," Cas says, blushing furiously. He shoves his hands in his pockets and avoids Dean's eye. "How are you?"

"I'm great, yeah, thanks." Dean is smiling. Cas feels safe enough to meet his eye. "You're still open, right?"

"Yeah. Place closes at 8. What are you looking for?"

"Uh, when I was in here a couple of days ago I noticed that you do suits?"

Cas nods, holding back a smile. Dean in a suit. That's something he's got to see.

"Yeah, so my brother's getting married in about a week and I need something that hasn't been to five _Zeppelin_ concerts."

"Congratulations," Cas says, his low voice making the word sound more beautiful than it is. "Yeah, we have a whole range of formal wear. Follow me." He starts walking and again, Dean falls into step beside him, like they'd never been apart.

"Tell me about your brother," he says, surprising himself at how forward he's being.

"Oh, he met this chick in college a couple years back and they've been joined by the glasses ever since." Dean's voice swells with pride for his brother. "Gotta tell you, man. Sammy's really got it all worked out."

"How do you mean?"

"You know. He's got the girl, the house, the job. His whole future – his whole _family_ – is already planned out. He's lucky, I guess that's what I mean." He coughs.

Cas hums, the noise accompanying his frown. Dean turns to him. "What?"

"It's just... your brother's lucky, but you don't have to have everything to be happy. Like, aren't you happy being, well, _free_?"

Dean mulls it over for a few moments. They come to a stop at the formalwear and Dean leans one hand against a rack. "I don't know," he admits in the end. "I just kind of assumed I was, but... I don't know."

Suddenly he changes his posture dramatically, standing up straighter and folding his arms across his chest. "Right. That's enough _Gilmore Girls_ for one day. Time to try on clothes, like a man."

Cas nods, accepting the change of subject. They've only known each other for an hour, after all. Not like he should force Dean to spill his heart and soul if he doesn't want to.

Over the next few minutes Cas shows Dean around the formalwear, talking about lengths and cuts and colours, while Dean frowns and asks a lot of questions, obviously out of his comfort zone. Eventually they narrow it down to a few suits, and Cas points Dean towards the changing rooms with an encouraging smile.

He waits outside the door while Dean changes, glancing around the store. The radio's been turned off, and the place is eerily quiet. All he can hear is Dean's occasional cursing as he slams an elbow into the side of the cubicle.

"Hey, bro," comes a voice from behind him suddenly, and Cas spins around to find Gabriel leaning against a wall, watching him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," replies Cas, working to keep his voice even. He's always been a terrible liar. Unfortunately, Gabe is very aware of this.

"Nothing my ass. Who's in there?" He waves a hand towards the cubicle.

"A customer."

"Who's in the cubicle, Castiel?" Gabriel says loudly, and Cas shushes him frantically, face turning red.

"Alright!" He whispers. "It's the guy from a few days ago. Now get out, will you?"

The sound of the door unlocking means both men turn to look as Dean steps out in a black tuxedo. "Hey," he says uncertainly to Gabriel, before turning to Cas and saying, "So?"

Cas looks him up and down slowly, marvelling at how fucking hot Dean looks. He has to stop himself from letting out a low whistle. "Uh, yeah. Looks good. How does it feel?"

Dean shifts uncomfortably. "I feel like a fuckin' funeral director, that's how I feel. But I guess the fit is alright."

"No no no no," Gabriel says suddenly, stepping towards Dean and running his hands over the man's upper arms. Cas glares, which Gabriel ignores. "No, you can do better than this. See, we have suits _specifically tailored_ to guys like you. I mean, with all the muscles and stuff." He waggles his eyebrows.

"Uh, right." Dean steps backwards out of Gabriel's reach. "Thanks, yeah. It is a little tight, come to mention it."

"This calls for one thing," says Gabriel, pulling out his phone.

"What's that?" Cas asks scathingly, really hoping that one of the ceiling lights falls on Gabe's head.

Music starts blaring out from Gabriel's phone. After a few seconds, Cas recognises it as _Vogue._

"What are you doing," Cas says, and it's flatly not a question.

Gabriel throws his hands in the air, grinning, and cries, "Montage!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Dean is changing back into his own clothes, and Cas is dragging Gabriel out of the store by his arm.

"Alright alright I'm _going,_ " he cries, pulling his arm out of Cas's grip with a glare. "My _God_ you are possessive."

"Go home, Gabriel," Cas pleads. "Please."

"Fine. But you owe me." He walks off into the night, with Cas yelling profanities after him until he's out of view.

Cas walks quickly back to where Dean is emerging from the changing room, holding the chosen suit gingerly. "This was the one, right?" he asks as Cas approaches.

"Yes. I'm sorry about my colleague. He's... eccentric."

Dean chuckles, his eyes lighting up. "That's a mild word. Don't sweat it. At least _I_ don't have to live with it." He slaps Cas on the shoulder. "Alright, ring me up."

They walk towards the cash register. "You been in town long?" Dean asks.

"No, actually. I moved here a few months ago. This is the first job I've had in the area."

"Nice. What, you got family here or something?"

Cas looks over to find Dean looking at him. He tries to maintain the eye contact but knows that if he doesn't glance in front of him occasionally he'll end up tripping over something. "No, I just wanted a fresh start. It was actually my family that drove me away."

Dean nods. "Right. Sorry." He senses the sensitive subject and changes it. _Hot and respectful,_ Cas thinks. _Is there nothing this guy's not good at? Apart from shopping, of course. But that kind of works to my advantage._

"My family's lived here for years. Kansas boy, born and raised. The band's not bad, either." He looks at Cas hopefully, hoping the reference will register. He's met with a frown and a squint. "Ugh. Nothing, nevermind."

Cas slips behind the counter and takes the suit, scanning the labels and removing the security tags. "That's eighty dollars."

Dean hands him four twenties. "If this thing rips, I'm out for your ass."

"I don't doubt it," Cas tells him with a smirk. "Hey, if you get a store card you can knock ten dollars off the price."

"Huh." Dean shrugs. "Sure, okay. I'm gonna be coming here often, so why not."

Cas drops his pen.

"I, uh, sorry." He picks it up off the floor and looks at his feet.

"God, relax, man." Dean's body shakes with silent laughter. He's holding it in for Cas's sake, which fills Cas with the low buzz of embarrassment. "There is a hole in my wardrobe the size of Kim Kardashian's ass. Had to be filled sometime."

"Well, I'm always happy to help," Cas mumbles, filling in a few details on a store card application form and waiting for his blush to recede. "Okay. Can I take your surname?"

"Winchester."

"Right." Cas writes it down and looks up at Dean. "Like the gun?"

"Hell yeah." Dean beams with pride. "Awesome, huh?"

"Violent." Cas's nose wrinkles a little. He's never used a gun in his life. "Though I sense that wouldn't be a problem for you."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "Hey, whoa, Mr Judgey, where'dyou get that from?"

"The plaid shirt, mostly. And the boots. You work at a clothes store long enough, they become their own kind of language." He rolls his eyes. "It's a nightmare."

"What, so everyone that comes in here with heels, you wanna reunite them with their father?"

"...something like that, yeah." His fingers begin tapping on the desk. "Can I have your number?"

Dean smirks with surprise. "Sorry?"

"I mean uh – for the card. I need your phone number. For – for the store card. The... card. See?" He points to the blank section on the form he's holding. "I need your number."

"Ah. No problem."

Cas slides the paper and pen across the counter towards Dean before shoving his hands in his back pockets and willing himself to stop shaking. What is it about Dean that makes him so damn nervous? _It's probably his eyes,_ Cas thinks. _They're so green, like the grass after rain. Or maybe it's his face. Or his body. Or his voice. Or, you know, his whole personality. Oh, shit._

"There we go." Dean hands the pen back to Cas. "I filled in the rest of it for you."

"Thanks." He grabs one of the small plastic cards from under the counter. "I'll just activate your card and you'll get your ten dollars back."

"Thanks, man. Hey, listen." And the way he says it makes Cas's head shoot up.

"Do you, uh..." Dean scratches the back of his neck. "Do you have a sports section?"

Cas visibly deflates, losing about two inches in height. "Uh, yeah. Yes."

"Good, cos Sam's hooked me up playing tennis with this girl on Friday and I don't think I can swing it in jeans."

Cas hands him the card and his ten dollars, making sure their hands don't touch. _I don't know why I bother, not like my face can get any redder._ "Come back before then, we'll get you sorted out."

"Awesome." Dean raps his knuckles on the counter. "See ya."

And that's it. He's gone.

As soon as Cas is sure that he's completely alone, he kicks over the stool next to him. "Can I have your number?" He mocks himself as he runs his hands through his hair and starts pacing. "Shut _up,_ Cas, just learn to shut up."

But at least he's got a promise. At least he knows Dean's coming back in the next couple of days. Hopefully this time Gabriel won't fuck it up.

And even if it kills him, he's gonna ask Dean out.


	3. Chapter 3

Thursday comes and Cas is pacing up and down the underwear aisle and biting his nails and thinking _I can't do it I can't do it I can't do it_ over and over, occasionally pausing to pick up something he's knocked over. _This isn't me,_ he tells himself. _I'm not that forward. I can't ask him out just like that. He's shopping for a date, he's not gonna need another! A date with a woman, especially. Fuck._

He breaks his usual rule of not drinking on the job when his lunch break comes and he sneaks a beer from where Gabriel keeps them in the staff bathroom's toilet tank. It doesn't help, just makes him worry more about getting caught. So he has two more, which calms him down a bit. He still brushes his teeth, though. He's not about to lose his job over a crush.

Dean comes into the store around 3, wearing the same shirt as he was the first time they met. Cas stands up so fast he falls off the stool. He rushes towards the front of the store, checking his breath in the palm of his hand. _Be cool,_ he tells himself. _You'll be fine. Just relax. But not too much. Crap._

"Good morning," he says to Dean as he approaches. He looks tired, his hair ruffled, but not in the usual artful way. Cas frowns. "Is everything alright?"

Dean looks at him strangely. He looks flattered, almost. Cas thinks that maybe he's the only person who noticed that something was wrong. "Yeah, fine. You?"

"I'm well, thank you. My boss isn't around, though, so I'm having to stay an hour after closing to finish up some paperwork." He doesn't mean to complain; Dean is just so easy to talk to, and he looks like he cares as he listens intently to Cas talk. Besides, anything to take the subject off Dean's tiredness, which he obviously doesn't want to talk about.

"What's he doing, playing golf?" Dean quips, and Cas isn't sure he gets it, but he laughs anyway.

"No, he's sick. It's alright. I get overtime pay." Truth is Gabriel's taking a personal day, which is a flimsy cover for "Kali's in town and there's a motel down the street". He's left Lucifer in charge with a sly wink to Cas, who'd groaned loudly and complained. Seeing as Lucifer's currently testing how many of the women's bras he can fit his head into, Cas figures he was right to do so.

Then that awkward period arises again as Cas forgets that he's actually at work, wearing a light blue polo shirt with a name badge (on which Gabriel had, last night, scribbled out part of his name so it now reads _Cas_ – "better customer service, no one's gonna ask you anything if they can't pronounce your name"). After a few moments of shifting on his feet and Dean clearing his throat, Cas says, "Uh. Let me show you what we have for tennis."

"Awesome."

He steers Dean over to a section full mostly of white polos and white shorts and white sneakers. Dean lets out a low whistle. "Man. It's... bright."

Cas smirks. "That appears to be the custom, yeah. See anything you like?"

"Oh. I, uh. It all looks pretty much the same. Hey, pockets!" He plays with the material on some shorts hanging at his eye level. "Handy."

Eventually Cas has to pick something for him because Dean keeps either insulting everything he sees or trying to sound like he knows what he's talking about, which he doesn't. He chooses a white v-neck and some running shorts, because he doesn't have an ulterior motive _at all,_ no, of course he didn't choose a shirt that was a size smaller than what Dean had said, that would be wildly inappropriate and unprofessional.

Nevertheless, he's smiling as Dean walks into the changing room.

He hears a muttered "goddamnit" a few minutes later. "How are you doing?" Cas calls, trying to keep the hungry glee out of his voice.

"You don't wanna know," comes the gruff reply.

"What's wrong?"

"These must be friggin' women's clothes or something, man. I'm so exposed!"

"Let me see."

"No."

"It can't be that bad. Sporting wear is usually meant to be tight to let you move." Cas shoves a fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

There's a pause for a few moments, followed by a world-weary sigh. "Fine. You laugh and I'm never comin' back here."

The curtain slides open and Cas's breathing stops.

Dean stands before him, tight fabric leaving little to the imagination, revealing a sculpted chest and abs that you could grate fucking _cheese_ on, not to mention an ass that makes Cas's skin feel more like skin. His breathing hitches as he looks Dean up and down, once, twice, again, because he can't stop.

He's interrupted in his worship by Dean clearing his throat loudly. Cas's eyes dart back up to meet Dean's, who's looking at him accusingly. "Why are you fucking staring, is it that bad?" he groans, and it sounds so adorably self conscious that Cas grins. "Hey, I told you not to laugh!"

"I'm not laughing, Dean. You look very..." He struggles to find a word that's not creepy. "You look very nice."

Dean snorts. "Thanks for trying, man. Got anything looser? And _longer?_ And _non v-neck?_!"

"Certainly. Give me a second. I'll pass them through to you."

After grumbling for a few seconds, Dean retreats back into the changing rooms, and Cas picks up clothes that are more suitable, thinking that even if Dean _is_ shopping for a date, at least he's doing it with him.

He eyes a Speedo as he walks past and chuckles as he imagines telling Dean that wearing such a thing to wear tennis is _normal,_ even _celebrated,_ and he should certainly try before he buys. The idea is ridiculous, seeing as Cas could never be so selfish. But the notion is entertaining.

He passes the clothes to Dean, who emerges from the changing room looking much more sophisticated now that forty percent of his chest isn't on show. He admires himself in the mirror, doing fake serves and backhands and jogging slightly on the spot. "Alright," he says in approval, nodding. "I can work with this."

But then he runs a hand through his hair and down over his eyes to rub at the bridge of his nose and Cas realises that it's more than a bad night's sleep. Something's really plaguing Dean.

"Dean, I don't mean to intrude –"

"I'm fine, Cas," Dean mutters, obviously experienced at playing these things off. Cas should know; he does it too. And he also knows that when you feel this bad, someone really taking the time to ask the right questions can be all you need.

"You seem troubled. If there's anything I can help with, I mean, if you need someone to talk to..." He trails off. "Yeah. You can have me."

Dean shoots him a sideways glance. "What do you mean by that?" His voice is low and smooth, sounding a little more like himself.

"I mean that I'm a pretty good listener, and I've been through enough shitty situations to have useful advice for pretty much anything." He smiles weakly and considers laying a hand on Dean's shoulder, but decides against it. It would be too forced, and Dean's got more defences than the Whitehouse.

For a few seconds Dean just looks at him, eyes slightly narrowed, working out whether he's being serious, whether he can be trusted. "Okay," he says eventually. "Alright. I think you can help me out, actually." He looks around himself, spots a small loveseat, and sits down at one end. He motions for Cas to sit at the other, which he does.

"Thing is, I haven't been on a date in a long time. A _really_ long time." His expression implies a deeper layer of meaning, but Cas doesn't quite understand, so he just frowns. "Right. I mean, I don't date. I just show up at a bar, scout a chick, talk to her long enough to get car sex or motel sex or bathroom sex. I don't actually spend time with them, get to know them." He looks down at his hands. "It sounds fuckin' stupid, but – I'm just thinking, she's gonna get bored, or see right through me."

The amount of respect Cas has for Dean triples instantly. He's not worried about whether he'll score, or fall on his face, or look bad in white. He's worried he's not good enough.

"Dean," Cas starts, before realising he's prepared a fully fledged love confession in way of reassurance. He quickly finds a new strategy before continuing. "Dean, you're a great guy. Objectively, yes, you're very attractive, but there's more to you. Girls just don't go with hot guys in bars. You've got this charm, this kind of... _spark,_ if you will, that runs through you. It's who you are. Just be yourself, and you'll be fine."

Dean's still looking at his hands though, so Cas puts on of his on Dean's knee and says, "Hey. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

Dean looks up sharply, but he's not mad, he just looks at Cas with such awe and appreciation and gratitude and damn this couch is small, they're only like at most a foot and a half away from kissing and Cas shifts a little and now it's less than a foot and Dean's still looking into his eyes and wow they're really fucking green if he just leans in a little they'd fit together perfectly –

"Customer service announcement," comes Lucifer's snarky voice across the PA system, causing them both to jump. Cas retracts his hand and looks towards the cash register, next to which Lucifer is leaning against the counter, donut in one hand, microphone in the other. "Anyone who tries to wear orange with black will be kicked out of the store and, hopefully, the country. Have a nice day!" He drops the microphone and throws his donut at a mannequin's head.

Cas watches this unfold with his eyes narrowed, and shakes his head slightly. "He's gonna kill someone someday," he mutters, before turning back to Dean and smiling as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah, uh, he's something." Dean wipes his palms down his jeans to rest on his knees. "So, yeah. Thanks, man. I don't know why I was so worried, really, it's just my car's in the shop for some government regulation check and I always get shaky when some other man's got his hands on my baby." He stands up. "Uh, so, I was wondering."

"Yes?" Cas asks as his heart crosses its fingers.

"Do you actually like, get commission when I buy stuff from you? Or is it just the satisfaction of seeing my beautiful face?" He smirks, and Cas laughs, happy that Dean's back to himself.

"No, I don't get any commission, but we get to keep the tips."

"Ah, damn. I thought I was putting food on your table." Cas considers Dean cooking, getting flour all over his shirt and having to take it off, damnit, why does he always end up here?

"So you all set for tomorrow?" Cas asks, ringing up Dean's items after shooing Lucifer away with a clothes hanger.

"S'pose. Mind if I try a few moves on you?"

"That depends. Are we talking hitting me with a racket?"

Dean laughs, and Cas admires his perfect teeth as he throws his head back. "No, no. You know what I mean."

"Sure, go ahead." He's glad it's hot in the store at the moment, because his face is turning redder by the second.

"Okay, okay." Dean looks away, and then back, and it's as if something's been turned on, an electricity running under his gaze. "Hey, I'm Dean, nice to meet you."

"Hello, I'm Anna," Cas says in his best impression of a woman, and Dean bursts out laughing again, muttering curse words under his breath.

"I'm trying to be serious here, man!"

"Me too," Cas deadpans. "I'm going for accuracy."

Dean chuckles a few more times. "Fuck you," he says affectionately, which Cas didn't think was possible. He hands Cas his store card and credit card, and Cas would be lying if he said he didn't fumble a bit to let their fingers rub together. He smiles as he runs the cards and stares at Dean as he hands him the bag. It's then that he remembers his promise to himself. But damnit, he's too happy to care. He's gonna take his time. Sure, he'll ask him out _eventually,_ but for now, he's content with sexual tension and eye contact and small touches.

"Thanks again," Dean says, as he moves to leave. "See you soon?"

"I'll be here," Cas calls as Dean moves further away, walking backwards, grinning. He spins around and walks in that charming bow-legged way of his towards the exit, and the life that Cas has no idea about.

As he cleans up Lucifer's trail of destruction, he thinks about Dean's state of mind, and how there's no fucking way that the problem he'd mentioned was the one keeping him up at night.


	4. Chapter 4

It's 9am, he's outside, and there's no beer available in a mile radius. _Kill me now_ , Dean thinks as he gets out of the car, locking her behind him.

He spots the woman Sam was talking about immediately. Dark wavy hair, bright eyes, a sly smile and a killer rack, she's just Dean's type. She waves casually when she sees him, doing stretches up against a bench. He raises two fingers vaguely in response, readying his A-game.

"Hey, I'm Dean, nice to meet you," he says once he's within range. The woman stops stretching – _damn_ , he thinks, _that's too bad –_ and holds out her hand. He shakes it, feeling how small and feeble her grip is in his.

"Hey there, Dean. I'm Pamela." She smiles as she gives him the up-and-down. "Oh, yeah. You'll be fine."

"Fine? Fine for what?" he asks, one side of his mouth starting to slide up, a move he is conscious of.

Pamela darts round him quickly to smack him on the ass with her racket, laughing when he yells out. "Fine competition, honey. Bad reflexes, though. But one perky ass. I could bounce a nickel off that thing." She waggles her eyebrows, and Dean relaxes slightly, most of the tension broken.

Recently he's not been sleeping very well. Often he lies on his back in bed for hours, sometimes he goes out for a walk to clear his head, but most of the time he sits on the hood of his car and looks at the stars. Sam joins him on occasion, whenever he stays the night, and Dean likes that best. Reminds him of when they were kids, when everything was simple, when love meant your mom baking you pie and kissing your forehead.

 _Maybe exercise and fresh air will do me good,_ Dean thinks as Pamela takes him through the long story of how she knows Sam. _Maybe I'll be so tired tonight I can sleep for more than four hours._

Besides, he likes Pamela. She's ballsy and confident and sexy, everything Dean looks for. He forces his mind to clear before the first serve.

* * *

"Don't sweat it, Dean," Pamela says as they pack up their stuff. "Better men than you have lost to me."

"I'm just rusty, it didn't _count_ ," he moans, but he's not a sore loser and Pamela knows it, laughing and shoving Dean's shoulder and muttering _bullshit_ under her breath.

It's the end of the "date", though it didn't really feel like one. Pamela's great, and she'd flirted like the world was ending, but it was all playful and he felt no real attraction towards her, which annoyed him. A month ago they'd be in the court showers like _that,_ but now? Nothing. He considers screwing her just to prove a point, to make himself feel better, but that wouldn't be fair to either of them.

"So." Pamela grins. "Got the stamina for a rematch?"

Dean hesitates. "Look, Pamela, I'm not really looking for any kind of romantic –"

She holds up a hand to stop him talking. "Got it, kiddo. Offer still stands."

Nodding once, Dean agrees. He needs more hobbies, more things to do, more reasons to get out of his apartment. More distractions. Because maybe, if he busies himself enough, he can go one minute without thinking about Cas.

* * *

A few days later – three, to be exact – Dean wakes up, showers, and figures enough time has passed to allow himself to see Cas again. He gets dressed, picking his clothes carefully, and checks his hair in the bathroom mirror before swearing loudly at how much he hates how he's acting. Nevertheless, he uses mouthwash before heading out the door.

He arrives at _The Garrison_ with a shopping bag and a wallet full of cash and a hopeful heart. Manoeuvring his way expertly through the aisles, he avoids the crowds of people and heads straight for where he usually finds Cas: sitting at the cash register, bored out of his mind. But today's different. Usually Cas gets up to meet him with a smile and a formal greeting and his eyes, oh, his eyes. Dean frowns.

Then he sees him, standing slightly taller than the crowds around him, scanning and scanning and scanning barcodes and moving so fast and fluid that it's almost beautiful, the way he's working so hard. The line behind the register is at least ten long, everyone holding five items or so, and Cas is the only worker in sight. He's smiling and being polite and professional, but Dean can tell he's on edge, and has no idea how to help.

He sidles into Cas's line of sight, dawdling there for a few moments, pretending to look at the displays, before glancing back over towards Cas. He's spotted him now, and is mouthing something that looks like _one moment,_ followed by a _sorry_ that could just as easily be _help me._ Dean's shit-eating grin is for the sole purpose of pissing Cas off, who rolls his eyes and smiles wider as he rings more people up.

Dean wanders around the store for a few minutes while Cas finishes up, darting behind a clothes rack to avoid Cas's co-worker Gabriel, whom he still has nightmares about after their last meeting.

When he returns, however, Cas is grinning and laughing and his eyes are crinkled up and there's a woman standing in front of him with her eyes on his face and his name on her tongue.

"I swear, we had an entire conversation about pants before I realised he was talking about his underwear!" the woman says, flipping her hair behind her shoulders. She's very beautiful, Dean notices calmly.

"It does make it hard when one of our co-workers is called Lu, and that's the word he uses for bathroom," says Cas, putting her stuff into a bag. The woman laughs at his words and her fingers brush his arm when he hands her the items.

"Thank you, have a nice day."

She pulls something out of her pocket and slides it across the counter with a wink. Dean squints; it's a card. "You too. Call me."

Then she walks away, swinging her hips deliberately. Cas stares after her, more out of shock than anything else. He turns the card over to look at the number written on it.

Dean feels jealousy surge inside of him for the first time in his life.

He walks right up to Cas, invading the space where the woman was just standing, and smiles his best smile. "Hey, Cas. What's up?"

"Hello, Dean," Cas replies, distant, slipping the card into his pocket. Dean's eyes flash to it, and Cas notices. "That's nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing to me. You gonna call her?" He's not prying, these are totally questions guys ask other guys.

"Perhaps not," Cas says with a smirk, putting a few things away before slipping round the counter to Dean's side.

"Why not? She was hot!"

"She wasn't my type." Dean raises an eyebrow, so Cas continues. "Her hair was too dark and uh, she was too... touchy-feely."

"Well okay then. I'm not gonna pry." But really he's smiling like an idiot.

"Is there a reason you came in today?"

"Yeah, actually. I got a Halloween party tonight and I ain't got a costume. Is there anything like that here?"

Cas considers for a few moments, looking around the store for inspiration. "We don't really have _costumes,_ but maybe there's something we can create from usual fashion. Did you have anything in mind?"

Dean looks at his feet sheepishly. "Uh, actually, I was wondering if you had a Starfleet uniform."

"A what?"

"Oh my god." He sounds downright _offended_ as he looks at Cas like he's just kicked a puppy. "Don't tell me you don't know _Star Trek._ "

"The name rings a bell -"

"The _name_ rings a _bell,_ does it? I'm so, this is fucking – okay, dude." He points at Cas with his finger. "Not acceptable."

"Maybe you could educate me," Cas says coolly, eye contact perfect.

Dean's hand starts shaking so he lowers it from Cas's line of sight. "What do you mean?"

Cas doesn't reply, just looks at him, amused.

"You want me to lend you my DVDs?"

"Maybe. But I'd like to think of us as friends. Maybe we could hang out, or something?" His face is so out of character, so composed, that Dean can tell the effort he's going to to keep calm.

"Yeah, that'd be great." Dean smiles, warmth spreading through his bones. He looks at Cas and feels him in his heart. "You already have my number, right?"

"Yes. Good. Now, we don't have any costumes, like I said before, but we do have select items, like waistcoats and hats and..." Subject changed, Cas takes Dean through the store, showing him the most eccentric and costume worthy products. Dean nods and smiles and watches the side of Cas's face, and the back of his pale neck when he turns away.

Dean tries a few things on, but nothing really seems to look just right. Cas helps where he can, talking about cuts and colours and shapes and fits, and Dean keeps having to stop him and asking him to "repeat that".

"How was your date?" Cas asks suddenly when Dean's getting changed, and Dean drops everything he's holding with a loud _thud._

"Oh, uh. Good." He puts his clothes on as slowly as possible so he doesn't have to look Cas in the eye while talking about this.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She was nice."

"And the tennis element?"

Dean snorts. "Let's just say I won't be quitting my day job any time soon."

He hears Cas let out a soft laugh. It's just wow, just beautiful, he stops for a moment just to smile.

"Are you going to see her again?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I don't see anything there," he replies plainly, because he's not going to tell Cas how her hair was dark and curly but not as dark and curly as his, how her eyes were blue but not as blue as his, how her body was curvacious and lush but all he'd wanted to do the entire time was wrap his arm around Cas's hips and slide a hand up his neck and kiss him until the end of time.

Cas doesn't press for details, probably picking up on the slight sadness in Dean's tone. He waits patiently for Dean to emerge, praising the outfit too much when he does. Dean grimaces and avoids eye contact.

It gets to 1pm and it's Cas's break, and he tells Dean this in a way that sounds like an offer.

"Uh, this is embarrassing," Dean says, suddenly shy, suddenly nervous, suddenly sweating, "but I kind of brought you lunch."

Cas looks so surprised and touched that Dean wishes he had a camera or something, but no, nothing could capture the light in those eyes. "You did?"

"Yeah well, I knew this would take a while, and I didn't want to make you feel awkward – though I may have done just that, sorry – so I thought we could, I don't know, sit outside or something, or stay in here. It was for convenience, really."

But no amount of nervous rambling could make Cas stop glowing with happiness.

"That's very kind of you Dean. I'd like that a lot."

So they sit on the steps in front of the store, the slight wind and nip of autumn making Cas wrap his arms around himself and Dean stare after them with longing. _Why am I getting so caught up on this guy,_ he thinks, watching the guy in question. _What's so special about him?_

Cas wrinkles his nose and squints out into the street and his fingers probe up and down the sandwich Dean brought him. _Everything,_ Dean thinks, answering his question.

They talk about stuff, just stuff, nothing too serious. Dean tells Cas what it's like working as a mechanic, how most of his clothes are ruined with grease, and Cas suggests they sort that out too while he's there, and Dean agrees to spending more time with him for the sake of it, and also because he's kind of in desperate need of new clothes. But that's less important.

The hours pass like minutes as Cas's arms pile up with different plaid shirts and jeans and about twenty black t-shirts. They put this aside and focus again on the costume, with Dean trying to think of obscure characters with modest costumes that still look "hot as Hell".

Eventually, around 8pm, Dean parts the changing room curtains with a flourish and struts out. He winks at Cas and remarks, "don't get cocky, kid."

Cas tilts his head to the side, which is so cute Dean wants to hit something. "Is that a reference? Am I supposed to understand...?"

"Don't tell me you haven't seen _Star Wars,_ either, my god." He motions towards his outfit: leather waistcoat and white shirt, hair swept slightly to the side. "Han Solo?"

"Sorry," Cas says helplessly, and Dean forgives him immediately.

"Man. You're something else." _At least I didn't lie._

He admires himself in the mirror, pretending to hold a gun and pointing it at himself, then ducking after he shoots. "I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner. Simple, classy, badass."

"You do look good," Cas admits. Dean doesn't turn to him to reply, because he's blushing too much.

When he's recovered, he turns to Cas and says, "Hey, Cas, tell me you love me."

All colour drains from Cas's face as he freezes. "What?"

"Tell me you love me."

"Why?" His voice shakes, and Dean frowns.

"So I can say 'I know'."

Cas licks his lips, which Dean thinks is just _mean._ "What do you – I don't know what you mean, I -"

" _Empire Strikes Back?_ Man, it's not even funny anymore, it's just plain sad." He shakes his head slowly.

"Oh, I thought you were, uh." Cas laughs nervously, hands pulling at the hem of his shirt. "I didn't know it was a reference."

Dean is ready to laugh, mouth open and smiling and the noise building in his throat, but then he sees how adorably flustered Cas is, how the tips of his ears have gone pink like people in cartoons and books, how his hands are falling over each other, how he looks so beautiful and innocent and inviting.

Dean also notes how they're the only two people left in the store. They've spent the entire day together and not even realised.

In one step he's closed the distance between them and then takes Cas's face in his hands, slotting his fingers under his jaw perfectly, stroking lines with his thumb, and savours every moment as he leans in to press their lips together. It's warm and soft and he feels every nerve in his lips and every muscle behind them and every emotion in the world.

Cas pulls back then, looking at Dean with quiet surprise. He doesn't say anything, just looks, before leaning back in and kissing Dean with a passion.

Dean obviously responds to this positively, moving his lips against Cas's and sliding one hand up his neck into his thick hair. His other hand goes to Cas's waist, pulling them closer together, and Cas lets out a strangled moan when their bodies touch, like he's been waiting for it his whole life.

Taking Cas by the hips, Dean steers him into the changing stall to push him against the wall and kiss his way down his neck, sliding his lips and his tongue and his teeth across the soft skin, eliciting the best fucking sounds from Cas as he digs his fingers into Dean's back.

When Cas pulls their hips together very deliberately, Dean grunts so indelicately that Cas chuckles, dark and dirty, and Dean loves it, kissing him again and slipping his tongue between his lips smoothly. Cas pulls Dean's hair and whispers his name accidentally and pulls his body so close that Dean finds it hard to breathe, so he just stops breathing, just lets it all happen, just lets himself slowly but surely fall in love with Cas.

And then of course his phone rings.

 _Smoke On The Water_ blares out from the front of his pants, making him jump away from Cas in shock. He pulls it out without looking up and, seeing it's Sam, flips it open.

"What do you want, Sam?" he says quickly, turning his back to Cas.

"Hey, Dean! It's Dean, everybody!" There's a cheer in the background. Sam's voice is slurred.

"Dude, are you _hammered?_ "

"I got to the party before you cos Jess gave me a ride and then someone gave me this drink called a Drill or a Hammer or something -"

"You mean a Screwdriver?"

"Yeah, that! And I liked it so I had a few and then I don't really know but I'm having a lot of fun and I love Jess so so so much where are you why aren't you here."

"I'm uh, just picking up my costume."

"Cool, cool, get here soon though okay I love you."

"Okay, see you soon, Sammy." He flips his phone shut and stares at it for a few seconds, sobering up slowly. Common sense and priorities and family commitments slowly press themselves back onto his head, a seeping headache, and he feels like he's going to either yawn or vomit.

"Is everything okay?" comes the low, quiet voice of Cas from behind him.

He doesn't turn around yet. "Fine. My brother's at the party."

"Sounds like he's having a good time," he says, amused. It sounds like he's smiling. Something turns in Dean's stomach.

"Uh, I have to go." He faces Cas, whose smile is fading after hearing the change in Dean's voice. "He's pissed out of his mind, someone's gotta drive him home."

Cas nods once. "Do you want me to ring you up?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

Dean doesn't make a move to leave, or any move at all, so Cas skirts awkwardly around him and collects the stuff, making his way over to the register. Dean watches him go and wants to help him because he's obviously struggling carrying so much stuff, but he can't make himself move. Suddenly his world is trembling as it fills with regret and sadness, responsibility and obligations, and he promised his dad he'd take care of Sam, promised him he'd make him proud, and here he is being selfish. He's happy when he hasn't been happy in years, and that's wrong of him.

He hands Cas his card and grabs the shopping bags from the counter and hesitates. Cas is watching him with a small nervous smile and pink cheeks and his eyes are really blue and his hair is a little curly and Dean wants him so badly but he doesn't _want_ to want him.

"Uh, I'm sorry about that," he says. "I didn't mean to do it. I don't know why I did." He's lying and his tongue burns.

Cas stares at him. "Oh."

"It won't happen again. I'm sorry." He keeps his face emotionless.

"It's okay," Cas replies, nodding, tears building in his eyes. "It's alright."

Dean nods once. "See ya."

He turns around and walks out of the store without turning back. He has no idea what Cas does then, and he doesn't want to know, because it might break his heart.

He gets to the party an hour later and drinks himself into amnesia and goes home with a girl with dark hair and blue eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

It's two weeks later when Dean takes his lunch break early and meets Sam at their favourite restaurant for lunch. He's been seeing Sam a lot more recently, due to his suddenly barren social life. He fills in the gaps by watching _Star Trek: The Original Series_ over and over again.

Dean arrives early - "go figure," he sees Sam mutter under his breath as he walks in – in his new jeans and new shirt that he got from that store down the road he hasn't been into in a while. Sam sits down and they say "hey" and Sam peers at him.

"Is something different about you?"

Dean shrugs.

"Yeah, something is. Are you – are you _dressing_ well?"

"Oh, yeah. I spilled meatball sauce on my last clean t-shirt." This is a lie. All the clothes he bought smell like Cas.

"No, you wore something like that last time I saw you." Sam leans back in his chair, looking at Dean's outfit, and Dean feels strangely objectified. "You look _good_."

"Getting weird, Sammy."

"Sorry. Are you shopping somewhere new?"

Yes. "No."

"Really? I doubt you got that blend of cotton from an army surplus store."

"Dude, could you _be_ any more gay?"

"Shut up."

Dean sighs. "Well, there is this one store."

"Oh yeah?"

"It's called _The Garrison_ , it's up by the library."

Sam snorts. "Since when did you know where the library was?"

"Hey, I read."

"Can you take me?"

"To the library?"

"No, to the store, dumbass."

Dean doesn't answer, choosing instead to take a sip of water that lasts twenty seconds. Sam looks at him in suspicion the whole time. "Dean?"

"Can't you go on your own?"

"I'm not a big shopper, I'd rather have you with me, so it isn't so..." He squirms a little. "Formal."

Dean doesn't want to go. He doesn't want to face Cas, answer questions, make polite conversation. He doesn't want to see his eyes, his smile, the way he walks. He doesn't want to hear his voice and know what he did to it.

But for the life of him, he can't think of a single excuse.

"Dean? So, are you coming with me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Awesome."

The rest of the lunch passes without anything eventful. They set a time after work to go down to the store, a time Dean is well aware that Cas will be working.

And he knows he shouldn't be excited, but he is.

* * *

They walk in the front door and Sam is talking about how nice the store is and "ooh look at that shirt" but something is different because it's not busy but Cas isn't running down to meet him, he's not appearing with a smile on his face. In fact, Dean can't see him anywhere.

Probably because Cas is hiding underneath his desk.

"Samandriel!" he hisses as the teenager walks past. Samandriel looks around him in surprise. "Down here!"

"Castiel?" He spots him and walks over, shaking his head. "What are you doing?"

"I need you to take those customers."

"Which ones?"

"The two tall guys with the plaid shirts."

"Oh. _Oh,_ you mean _those_ guys? One of them is wearing one of our shirts, actually. Huh. It looks nice. I like that line."

Cas flushes pink and stutters, "He's wearing one of our – okay no, no, who cares, can you please get them out of here as soon as possible?"

"Sorry, Castiel, Gabriel put me in charge of inventory today. I have to go to the back and stack boxes."

"I'll do that! Yes! I can do that! I can do that, you take care of the customers!"

"I don't know..."

"Please, Samandriel. I'll owe you one, big time."

Samandriel looks at the pleading and desperate look on Cas's face and smiles, saying, "Don't worry about it. You don't owe me one. We're friends."

Cas grins. "I can't tell you how much this means to me. You're a good person, Samandriel."

Samandriel simply nods and walks off towards Dean and what Cas assumes is his brother. Cas peers over the top of the counter, waiting until Samandriel's got the brothers looking the other way, before slipping out from under the desk and running towards the door that leads to the back.

Once there, he leans heavily against the closed door, resting his head back and slowly sliding to the floor. This is gonna be a long day.

"Hi, I'm Samandriel. Do you need assistance?"

Dean frowns. "Samandriel?"

"Yes."

"Do your friends call you Sam?"

"Uh, no."

"Oh, that's fine. Samandriel, meet Sam. I'm Dean."

Samandriel shakes both of their hands, saying, "Pleased to meet you. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Dean can't help but keep looking over Samandriel's shoulder for someone he knows is here. "Yeah, my brother's looking for some new clothes."

Samandriel turns to Sam. "Anything in particular?"

"Not really," Sam replies, obviously nervous. _He's as awkward about shopping as I used to be,_ Dean thinks with a nostalgic smile. It leaves his face once he remembers who'd smiled at him and made him feel at ease every time.

"You guys work on commission, right?" comes a voice from behind Dean, and he and Sam spin round to see Gabriel standing with his hands on his hips.

"Uh, no. Gabriel, are you okay?" Samandriel replies, obviously confused.

"Big mistake. Huge!" Gabriel yells, positively _strutting_ up to Samandriel and taking him by the arm, leading him away. Samandriel protests, but Gabriel sits him behind the cash desk and points at him, presumably telling him not to move.

Gabriel returns to the brothers, smiling profusely. "Sorry about that. He gets a bit carried away. Really loves Julia Roberts. So, what can I do for you?"

"I want some clothes," Sam says in shock.

Gabriel turns to him, looks him up and down. "Oh, this your little brother? New and improved, I see. Dean 2.0, with all the faults taken out."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, glaring, but Gabe isn't looking at him. He smiles brightly at Sam and steers him away.

Before he does, though, he whispers to Dean, "Cas is in the back. Talk to him or I'll break your face."

Dean stares at Gabriel's back as he walks away, holding Sam's arm while Sam tries to twist out of the grip, looking over his shoulder at Dean for help. Dean waves.

When they're out of view, Dean runs his hands through his hair and over his face and whispers, "Fuck."

* * *

Cas finds he hates stacking boxes. The last time he had to do this was when he first started, months ago. This is obvious in the way it's killing his back. But he soldiers on, because this pain is preferable to the pain he'd feel if he had to go out and face Dean.

Thing is, Cas likes Dean. He likes him a lot. Give him another week and a night alone with him and he'd say he was in love. And Dean had rejected him, acted like their kiss was a mistake, shameful. He doesn't think he can ever get over that.

He doesn't want to be Dean's friend. He never wants to see him again.

"Need some help?" comes a familiar voice from behind him, and Cas freezes.

"You're not supposed to be back here," he replies cooly.

"What's Gabriel gonna do, steal my wallet? I'd like to see him try."

"So would I."

Dean chuckles, and Cas hears footsteps, and then Dean is standing beside him, taking the box from his arms and setting it on the ground.

"I'm stacking shelves, not putting boxes on the ground."

"Sorry." He moves to pick the box up again, but Cas stops him.

"I don't need your help."

"Well, you're getting it." Dean visibly hesitates. "Maybe, if you finish up early, we could grab some dinner, talk?"

"No thank you." He turns away and resumes stacking. Dean sighs and does the same.

They work in silence for a few minutes before Dean attempts to make conversation. "Gabriel's sure a piece of work, huh. I think he just quoted _Pretty Woman_ to that Samantriel kid."

"Samandriel," Cas corrects.

"Yeah, that."

Cas doesn't reply.

"Look, Cas, I don't wanna lose you."

"Well you have, and it's your own fault."

"What, just cos I don't wanna make out with you you're gonna stop being my friend?"

Cas slams his box down and turns on Dean, feeling heat flush to his face. "You _humiliated_ me."

"I'm sorry." Dean raises his hands in a comforting gesture, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I don't care. Look – why are you even here?"

"Sam wanted some new clothes."

"And you couldn't have gone to one of the other dozen stores in the area?"

Dean shrugs. "He asked about my shirt. I couldn't say no to the kid."

"Dean, this is where I work. I have to be here. I can't just not show up because I don't want to see you, but you could do the polite thing and not force me into situations like this."

"I just want to talk."

Cas laughs without humour. "We're talking now. Hit me. What's your excuse."

"I..." He looks so lost, so obviously out of his comfort zone, and it's clear that there _was_ a reason for what Dean did, and it's a good one, but he doesn't want to say. Cas takes pity on him.

"Look, it's okay. You don't have to tell me what I did wrong. Maybe my breath smells or something, I don't care. I'd just prefer if you didn't come in here anymore."

Dean sighs. "You're making this harder than it has to be."

"So are you."

For a moment they look at each other, Dean trying to figure out whether Cas is serious or not. Finally, he decides that he is.

"Fine," says Dean,voice tight, throwing his arms up and letting them drop by his sides. "Fine. I won't come in anymore."

"Thank you." Cas's voice is thick, and he swallows.

"See you around, Cas."

"Goodbye."

Dean walks away without looking back. They don't make a big thing of it or anything, but they're both thinking it: they're never going to see each other again.

* * *

Dean's left the store by the time Cas finishes in the back and wanders through to pick up his stuff. It's closing time and he's packing up for the night, checking the register and turning off the computer.

"BOO!" Gabriel yells from behind him and Cas jumps so much that he falls backwards into the counter.

"Gabriel!" he cries, putting on his coat. "What are you doing?!"

"Hey, I didn't get to go to a Halloween party before, I'm gonna be doing this for months." He waggles his eyebrows. "Keep your eyes open, little buddy."

"Thanks for the advice," Cas says sarcastically, and attempts to leave.

"Woah, hold up." He pulls Cas back by the string of his trenchcoat. "I got a few questions."

"Like what?"

"Like why you're avoiding that denim-and-flannel-wrapped sweet slice of pie."

Cas tenses. "That's none of your business."

"C'mon, man. You've been out of it ever since the last time that guy came in. What happened?"

"Nothing, nothing," Cas dismisses, waving his hand. "It's all fine. We spoke, it's fine."

"Bullshit. You obviously like him. Why aren't you hitting that?"

"It's complicated."

"Love always is." He sits up on the counter, resting his weight on his arms behind him. He looks at Cas seriously, which Cas doesn't think has ever happened before. "Look, Cas. You like him. He likes you. You're single. He's single. You're gay. He's obviously up for it. Nothing else really matters."

"...thanks, I think." For all his jokes and inappropriate language, Cas can see that Gabriel is really trying to help. "You're right. But sadly, that doesn't change anything."

Gabriel groans. "You're such a dick. Did you finish up in the back?"

"Yes."

"Oh good, cos there's a late shipment coming in ten minutes and I've got a hot date."

"And you want me to do what?"

"Sign for it, unpack it, etc."

"Are you _serious?_ My shift ended five minutes ago!"

"Please? I'll pay you overtime!" Gabriel sticks out his bottom lip and does his best attempt at puppy-eyes.

Cas sighs. "Double pay."

"Pay and a half."

"Fine. You owe me."

"Thanks, Cassie." He springs forward to kiss Cas on the forehead, and Cas slaps his shoulder. "You're the best."

"Whatever. Get out of here."

"See you later, hater." Gabriel winks and skips out of the store, singing "I'm gonna get some" over and over to himself.

Cas turns to face the door to the store room. He narrows his eyes at it. "Alright. Just you and me. And my thoughts. Shit."

This is gonna be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks. I'm calling this completed for now just because I'm about to get super busy, but I might write an epilogue or some timestamps or something when that's all over, so be sure to subscribe! Thank you for reading and commenting and everything, enjoy!

If Cas is perfectly honest with himself, he knows he's resisting the urge to sing _All By Myself._ He may be pretty out of the topical loop, but even _he_ knows Celine Dion's reputation.

A tiny voice in the back of his head tells him, "it's your own fault you're alone." But that tiny voice is stupid and should shut up and doesn't know what it's talking about.

He waits by the back door, hugging himself and pulling down his previously rolled up sleeves. The delivery was supposed to be in at nine. It's ten minutes late. Cas should be on his couch with the new Stephen King novel by now. He makes a silent promise to flush Gabriel's hidden candy bars down the toilet.

Finally he sees headlights flash, and soon a van pulls in to the staff parking lot. Cas sighs with relief and walks towards it, meeting the delivery guy halfway.

Correction: the _cute_ delivery guy.

"Hey there," the man greets, holding out a clipboard. "Sorry I'm late. There was an accident on the freeway."

"No problem." Cas signs his name, and the man checks it.

"Castiel, huh?"

"Biblical reference."

The man huffs a laugh. "Ah. Your parents were religious nuts too." He holds out his hand. "Ezekiel."

Cas shakes it. "Nice to meet you."

"Though, I get people to call me Zeke. What about you?"

"Cas, usually. Though most people call me Castiel."

"Why's that?"

 _Because I don't have a lot of friends,_ Cas thinks, but he knows he can't say that. "Force of habit, I guess."

The man nods. "Well, I'll get these boxes to you and be on my merry way."

"Thank you, Zeke."

"My pleasure, Cas."

They smile at each other, before Cas helps him unload the boxes, laying them by the back door.

"You need any help getting them inside?" Zeke asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"No, that's alright. I'll let you leave."

Zeke laughs again, clapping Cas on the shoulder. "Much appreciated. Normally I'd insist, but my wife's at home with the new baby. Told me to get back sharpish so she can take a nap."

Cas knows he should be disappointed, but this just makes him kind of happy, in a sad way. "Of course. I insist. Go."

"See you around, Cas."

Cas just nods his reply, raising a hand as Zeke drives off. He sighs loudly and melodramatically as he looks at the five boxes. They're full of winter coats, of all things, while Cas is freezing his ass off.

But he gets on with it, knowing the only way to warm up is to actually move. He hauls the boxes inside, not bothering to shelve them. Gabriel can do that in the morning. Cas just wants to go home and think about every opportunity he hasn't taken.

He has to lock the back door before he leaves, so he goes to the cash register to pick up his keys. On his way, he passes the spot he'd talked to Dean, only a few hours earlier. He kicks a box over. It doesn't help.

Everything seems to be the way he left it up front, but he can't shake the feeling that something's different. Changed. _Moved._ He disregards it and looks for his keys. He lifts up folders and papers and receipts, but nope. Nothing. His keys are gone. Something's changed.

He rolls his eyes at himself, choosing instead to take twenty dollars from the register for a cab home which he plans to return tomorrow.

But the register is empty. Why is the register empty? It definitely wasn't before.

And then he remembers that the front door is unlocked.

"Shit," he whispers, looking around himself for an intruder who might still be here. "Shit, shit, oh no, no, no." He runs to the front of the store and, sure enough, the door is unlocked, and open. "Shit!"

He runs around the store briefly in search of anyone, picking up a baseball bat as he passes the sports section and holding it up ready. His posture is terrible. But no burglar's gonna notice that, right?

When he doesn't see anyone he spends a few minutes staring at the feed from the security cameras, but all he notices is a few knocked over manikins. There's no one here. He breathes a sigh of relief, but the constricting feeling in his chest just won't go away. They could be hiding. They could come back. He doesn't want to lock the door, but he can't leave it open, not again.

He needs to do something. Only one thing comes to his mind.

His phone is in his hand in seconds and he's going through the folder in front of him, going to store card applications, finding W, dialling the number. He bites his fingernails as it rings.

"Hello?"

"Dean."

"Cas? Cas, is that you?" His voice is worried. He's picked up that something's wrong. It could be Cas's tone of voice, or it could be the fact that he's calling at all.

"The store's been robbed, I left the door open and I was in the back taking a shipment and someone got in, they got in the register and took hundreds of dollars and oh shit, what if they got in the safe, too, I _told_ Gabe he shouldn't make the passcode '123' –"

"Woah woah woah, take it easy. Breathe. They still there?"

"I don't know," Cas says, and then realises that he should probably whisper. "I don't know, I can't see anyone."

"Why are you whispering?"

" _Why do you think?_ "

"Alright, okay. I'll be there in five. Hide under the desk, get a baseball bat or something. Stay calm." He hangs up.

Cas does as he said, hiding under the desk for the second time today.

 _So that was it,_ he thinks, _no questions asked. He's coming, just like that._ He doesn't know how to feel about this.

It's quiet, frankly too quiet for Cas's liking, and when Dean finally arrives, Cas jumps so much he smacks his head on the underside of the desk.

"Oh. God. I'm sorry." Dean holds out a hand in apology and offering. Cas takes it, pulling himself up.

"Thanks for coming."

"No problem. I was a little surprised, though."

"You and me both. He took my keys."

"Need a ride home?"

"Yes, thank you." He frowns. "Oh. Wait."

"Yeah?"

"My house key's gone, too."

Dean gives him a look that manages to be sympathetic without a hint of pity. "Damnit, what a dick." He looks away for a few moments, chewing his bottom lip in a way that makes Cas hungry. "Well, I got a couch."

Cas knows that this is more than just a statement. "No, it's alright. I can, uh. I could. I'm going to." But he realises he literally has nowhere else to go. Locksmiths aren't going to be open until morning. He knows practically no one in this town.

Except Dean.

"Come on, Cas. I know you hate my guts, but you can't sleep on the street." He puts a hand on Cas's shoulder, gently. "Let me make it up to you. Or try, at least."

Cas is suddenly aware of how deep he's looking into Dean's eyes. He looks at his feet instead. "Yes, thank you. Just one night, if that's alright."

Dean nods. "Okay. Stay here one sec, I'm gonna scope the place out." He pats Cas on the shoulder and then removes his hand, taking Cas's bat and walking off. While he does so, Cas takes the spare store keys and locks up the back. _Too bad I don't have a spare set of my own keys,_ he thinks, then stops chastising himself because he's had a long freaking night and the last thing he needs is to beat himself up about things he can't change.

"All clear," Dean shouts after a while, striding up to him, batless. "Looks like a hit and run kind of deal."

"Good. Let's go."

Cas holds the door open for Dean, locking up behind him and following Dean to his car. He gets in without a word.

Dean slides into the driver's seat and looks at Cas for a few seconds expectantly.

"What?" Cas asks.

"Not gonna say anything about how awesome my car is?"

"Oh. Yes. Very nice."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Idiot," he says, and there's a fondness in there he's trying to keep hidden. He starts the engine and they drive off.

"How far away is your house?"

"My apartment is about ten minutes from here."

"Right."

Silence again.

"So how's work -"

"I'm sorry." Dean keeps his eyes firmly planted on the road. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Cas doesn't reply.

"Cas, I really am."

"I know."

"I made a mistake." He sighs when Cas doesn't reply again. "Look, if you're not gonna say anything, that's fine. Gives me a chance to explain myself." He glances at Cas, eyes sad. "Growing up, our dad wasn't around much. We didn't have a lot of money, and Sammy was too young to understand why he couldn't have dinner every day. I wanted to make sure he could. So I worked two jobs from eighth grade, I stole when I could. I looked out for him. I guess it's always been ingrained in me that when I'm starting to… enjoy myself, I have to stop. I gotta restore to factory settings: look after Sam, try not to get hit." He bashes his hand against the steering wheel. "Man, I fucked up. I'm sorry. Whatever this is, I want it." He stops talking once he realises what he's saying, instead waiting for some kind of response.

"Okay," Cas says again, but differently. Dean turns to him, smiling. "I believe you."

"You forgive me?"

He smiles slyly. "We'll see."

* * *

Dean's apartment is clean and organised, and Cas knows that that should surprise him, but it doesn't. There's a big leather sofa and a television and a few worn books, but not much else. It's pretty small. Cas finds he likes it a lot.

"Don't judge me," Dean mutters as he takes off his jacket and lays it on the back of the couch.

"For what?"

"I dunno. I was being general."

"Oh, okay. I won't. I like it here."

"Yeah? Well, good." They face each other, a few metres between them. "So, uh. You wanna go to bed now, or."

"I don't mind."

"I mean, have you eaten? It's only ten, we could, uh. I got some burritos."

Dean looks so disappointed in himself that Cas says, "It's okay. I had dinner. What do you want to do?"

"What do _I_ want to do?" He runs a hand through his hair and laughs. "Well, I never thought I'd say this, ever, but I want to talk about, like, feelings and shit. Well, not feelings. Like, _your_ feelings. Towards me. I mean. Well. Help me."

"You want me to say more about your proposition."

Dean nods curtly.

Cas purses his lips and sits down on the couch. Dean sits next to him, at a respectful distance. They angle their bodies so they can talk comfortably while talking uncomfortably.

"Dean, I…" This is hard. He promised himself he'd never give Dean another chance, but he can't find any reason not to anymore. "I'm not sure. I mean, I liked you. I really did. I wanted to be with you. I just can't be sure that you want to be with _me._ "

"I do, I do, I swear." Dean grabs his hand in two of his own.

Cas hesitates. "Dean," he says, and it comes out hoarser than he'd meant it to, and his throat is thick and heart is speeding up, and Dean's picking up on it, his eyes becoming dark and hungry, and Dean leans in and Cas makes absolutely no effort whatsoever to stop him.

Their lips meet and their chests meet and their hands grab each other's hair and Cas never thought he'd love the mess, the chaos and confusion and grasping-at-straws that is being human, but Dean's kissing him like his life depends on it and running his fingers up his spine and under his jaw, and Cas loses himself in the sensation, before realising that what he's feeling is just, plain and simple, happiness. It surges in him and pushes him forwards, makes his hands push Dean's shoulders down so that he's lying on the couch and Cas hovers over him, enjoying the power and the opportunities and the closure.

"Cas, I –" Dean says suddenly as Cas leans in again. Cas waits for him to finish, but he doesn't, just looks at Cas like he should know exactly what he's thinking. And he does.

"I know."

Dean grabs Cas's collar and pulls him in so fast and unexpectedly that Cas's arms collapse under him and he falls off the couch, and Dean is clinging on to him so tightly that he falls right on top.

"Ow," Cas breathes, and Dean laughs, hauling himself up and pulling Cas with him. "Sorry," Dean says. "C'mon, asshole." He takes Cas's hand and pulls him towards a door that Cas is rather hoping leads to the bedroom.

Though he finds it's impossible to tell, due to the clothes covering every inch of the place.

"Oh. Yeah." Dean rubs the back of his neck. "Forgot about that."

"They all still have the labels on," Cas observes, before realising that they're all the clothes they bought together when Dean came in for Halloween that time a few weeks ago. "Dean, did you even need new clothes?"

"Well, that's debatable."

"Did you need a Halloween costume?"

"I've been wearing the same blood-stained AC/DC shirt for the last few years, I wanted to mix it up."

Cas smiles and places a hand on the side of Dean's face. Dean leans into it. "I'd get fired if anyone heard me say this, but let's get these clothes out of here."

They clear the bed in three seconds. Then make sweet sweet love.

"So do I get a discount? You know, cos I rocked your world and all?"

"Dean, you know I'm not at liberty to give out things like that."

"I was kidding, my God. Just a bit of post-coital humour for you." He rolls over onto his side, leaning on his elbow, looking at Cas's profile. "But seriously, are we, like, dating now?"

Cas turns his face to the side, skimming his eyes down Dean's neck briefly. "I hope so."

"Me too."

Cas grins. "What?" Dean asks.

"Nothing. It's just."

"I know."

It starts raining lightly outside as they fall asleep, and Cas's last thought is that he both cares so much less and so much more at the same time, and it's all thanks to Dean. Everything is thanks to Dean.

There's a smile on his face as he drops out of consciousness, and it doesn't look like it's going away any time soon.


End file.
